Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour

by Robert Smith Surtees

  CHAPTER XIX

  THE WET DAY

  When the dirty slip-shod housemaid came in the morning with herblacksmith's-looking tool-box to light Mr. Sponge's fire, a riotouswinter's day was in the full swing of its gloomy, deluging power. The windhowled, and roared, and whistled, and shrieked, playing a sort of aeolianharp amongst the towers, pinnacles, and irregular castleisations of thehouse; while the old casements rattled and shook, as though some one weretrying to knock them in.

  'Hang the day!' muttered Sponge from beneath the bedclothes. 'What thedeuce is a man to do with himself on such a day as this, in the country?'thinking how much better he would be flattening his nose against thecoffee-room window of the Bantam, or strolling through the horse-dealers'stables in Piccadilly or Oxford Street.

  Presently the over-night chair before the fire, with the picture ofJawleyford in the Bumperkin yeomanry, as seen through the parted curtainsof the spacious bed, recalled his over-night speculations, and he began tothink that perhaps he was just as well where he was. He then 'backed' hisideas to where he had left off, and again began speculating on the chancesof his position. 'Deuced fine girls,' said he, 'both of 'em: wonder whathe'll give 'em down?'--recurring to his over-night speculations, andhitting upon the point at which he had burnt his lips with the end of thecigar--namely, Jawleyford's youth, and the possibility of his marryingagain if Mrs. Jawleyford were to die. 'It won't do to raise updifficulties for one's self, however,' mused he; so, kicking off thebedclothes, he raised himself instead, and making for a window, began togaze upon his expectant territory.

  It was a terrible day; the ragged, spongy clouds drifted heavily along, andthe lowering gloom was only enlivened by the occasional driving rush of thetempest. Earth and sky were pretty much the same grey, damp, disagreeablehue.

  'Well,' said Sponge to himself, having gazed sufficiently on the uninvitinglandscape, 'it's just as well it's not a hunting day--should have gotterribly soused. Must get through the time as well as I can--girls to talkto--house to see. Hope I've brought my _Mogg_,' added he, turning to hisportmanteau, and diving for his _Ten Thousand Cab Fares_. Having found theinvaluable volume, his almost constant study, he then proceeded to arrayhimself in what he considered the most captivating apparel; a newwide-sleeved dock-tail coatee, with outside pockets placed very low,faultless drab trousers, a buff waistcoat, with a cream-coloured once-roundsilk tie, secured by red cornelian cross-bars set in gold, for a pin. Thusattired, with _Mogg_ in his pocket, he swaggered down to thebreakfast-room, which he hit off by means of listening at the doors till heheard the sound of voices within.

  Mrs. Jawleyford and the young ladies were all smiles and smirks, and therewere no symptoms of Miss Jawleyford's _hauteur_ perceptible. They all cameforward and shook hands with our friend most cordially. Mr. Jawleyford,too, was all flourish and compliment; now tilting at the weather, nowcongratulating himself upon having secured Mr. Sponge's society in thehouse.

  That leisurely meal of protracted ease, a country-house breakfast, being atlength accomplished, and the ladies having taken their departure, Mr.Jawleyford looked out on the terrace, upon which the angry rain was beatingthe standing water into bubbles, and observing that there was no chance ofgetting out, asked Mr. Sponge if he could amuse himself in the house.

  'Oh yes,' replied he, 'got a book in my pocket.'

  'Ah, I suppose--the _New Monthly_, perhaps?' observed Mr. Jawleyford.

  'No,' replied Sponge.

  'Dizzey's _Life of Bentinck_, then, I dare say,' suggested Jawleyford;adding, 'I'm reading it myself.'

  'No, nor that either,' replied Sponge, with a knowing look; 'a much moreuseful work, I assure you,' added he, pulling the little purple-backedvolume out of his pocket, and reading the gilt letters on the back:'_Mogg's Ten Thousand Cab Fares_. Price one shilling!'

  'Indeed,' exclaimed Mr. Jawleyford, 'well, I should never have guessedthat.'

  'I dare say not,' replied Sponge, 'I dare say not, it's a book I nevertravel without. It's invaluable in town, and you may study it to greatadvantage in the country. With _Mogg_ in my hand, I can almost fancy myselfin both places at once. Omnibus guide,' added he, turning over the leaves,and reading, 'Acton five, from the end of Oxford Street and the EdgerRoad--see Ealing; Edmonton seven, from Shoreditch Church--"Green Man andStill" Oxford Street--Shepherd's Bush and Starch Green, Bank, andWhitechapel--Tooting--Totteridge--Wandsworth; in short, every place neartown. Then the cab fares are truly invaluable; you have ten thousand ofthem here,' said he, tapping the book, 'and you may calculate as many morefor yourself as ever you like. Nothing to do but sit in an arm-chair on awet day like this, and say, If from the Mile End turnpike to the "Castle"on the Kingsland Road is so much, how much should it be to the "YorkshireStingo," or Pine-Apple-Place, Maida Vale? And you measure by other farestill you get as near the place you want as you can, if it isn't set down inblack and white to your hand in the book.'

  'Just so,' said Jawleyford, 'just so. It must be a very useful work indeed,very useful work. I'll get one--I'll get one. How much did you say itwas--a guinea? a guinea?'

  'A shilling,' replied Sponge, adding, 'you may have mine for a guinea ifyou like.'

  'By Jove, what a day it is!' observed Jawleyford, turning theconversation, as the wind dashed the hard sleet against the window like ashower of pebbles. 'Lucky to have a good house over one's head, suchweather; and, by the way, that reminds me, I'll show you my new gallery andcollection of curiosities--pictures, busts, marbles, antiques, and so on;there'll be fires on, and we shall be just as well there as here.' Sosaying, Jawleyford led the way through a dark, intricate, shabby passage,to where a much gilded white door, with a handsome crimson curtain over itannounced the entrance to something better. 'Now,' said Mr. Jawleyford,bowing as he threw open the door, and motioned, or rather flourished, hisguest to enter--'now,' said he, 'you shall see what you shall see.'

  Mr. Sponge entered accordingly, and found himself at the end of a galleryfifty feet by twenty, and fourteen high, lighted by skylights and smallwindows round the top. There were fires in handsome Caen-stonechimney-pieced fireplaces on either side, a large timepiece and an organ atthe far end, and sundry white basins scattered about, catching the dropsfrom the skylights.

  'Hang the rain!' exclaimed Jawleyford, as he saw it trickling over a riverscene of Van Goyen's (gentlemen in a yacht, and figures in boats), anddrip, drip, dripping on to the head of an infant Bacchus below.

  'He wants an umbrella, that young gentleman,' observed Sponge, asJawleyford proceeded to dry him with his handkerchief.

  'Fine thing,' observed Jawleyford, starting off to a side, and pointing toit; 'fine thing--Italian marble--by Frere--cost a vast of money--wasoffered three hundred for it. Are you a judge of these things?' askedJawleyford; 'are you a judge of these things?'

  'A little,' replied Sponge, 'a little'; thinking he might as well see whathis intended father-in-law's personal property was like.

  'There's a beautiful thing!' observed Jawleyford, pointing to anothergroup. 'I picked that up for a mere nothing--twenty guineas--worth twohundred at least. Lipsalve, the great picture-dealer in Gammon Passage,offered me Murillo's "Adoration of the Virgin and Shepherds," for which heshowed me a receipt for a hundred and eighty-five, for it.'

  'Indeed!' replied Sponge, 'what is it?'

  'It's a Bacchanal group, after Poussin, sculptured by Marin. I bought it atLord Breakdown's sale; it happened to be a wet day--much such a day asthis--and things went for nothing. This you'll know, I presume?' observedJawleyford, laying his hand on a life-size bust of Diana, in Italianmarble.

  'No, I don't,' replied Sponge.

  'No!' exclaimed Jawleyford; 'I thought everybody had known this: this is mycelebrated "Diana," by Noindon--one of the finest things in the world.Louis Philippe sent an agent over to this country expressly to buy it.'

  'Why didn't you sell it him?' asked Sponge.

  'Didn't want the money,' replied Jawleyford, 'didn't want the money. Inaddition to which, thoug
h a king, he was a bit of a screw, and we couldn'tagree upon terms. This,' observed Jawleyford, 'is a vase of the CinqueCento period--a very fine thing; and this,' laying his hand on the crown ofa much frizzed, barber's-window-looking bust, 'of course you know?'

  'No, I don't,' replied Sponge.

  'No!' exclaimed Jawleyford, in astonishment.

  'No,' repeated Sponge.

  'Look again, my dear fellow; you _must_ know it,' observed Jawleyford.

  'I suppose it's meant for you,' at last replied Sponge, seeing his host'sanxiety.

  '_Meant!_ my dear fellow; why, don't you think it like?'

  'Why, there's a resemblance, certainly,' said Sponge, 'now that one knows.But I shouldn't have guessed it was you.'

  'Oh, my dear Mr. Sponge!' exclaimed Jawleyford, in a tone of mortification,'Do you _really_ mean to say you don't think it like?'

  'Why, yes, it's like,' replied Sponge, seeing which way his host wanted it;'it's like, certainly; the want of expression in the eye makes such adifference between a bust and a picture.'

  'True,' replied Jawleyford, comforted--'true,' repeated he, lookingaffectionately at it; 'I should say it was very like--like as anything canbe. You are rather too much above it there, you see; sit down here,'continued he, leading Sponge to an ottoman surrounding a huge model of thecolumn in the Place Vendome, that stood in the middle of the room--'sitdown here now, and look, and say if you don't think it like?'

  'THIS, OF COURSE, YOU KNOW?']

  'Oh, _very_ like,' replied Sponge, as soon as he had seated himself. 'I seeit now, directly; the mouth is yours to a T.'

  'And the chin. It's my chin, isn't it?' asked Jawleyford.

  'Yes; and the nose, and the forehead, and the whiskers, and the hair, andthe shape of the head, and everything. Oh! I see it now as plain as apikestaff,' observed Sponge.

  'I thought you would,' rejoined Jawleyford comforted--'I thought you would;it's generally considered an excellent likeness--so it should, indeed, forit cost a vast of money--fifty guineas! to say nothing of the lotus-leafedpedestal it's on. That's another of me,' continued Jawleyford, pointing toa bust above the fireplace, on the opposite side of the gallery; 'done someyears since--ten or twelve, at least--not so like as this, but still like.That portrait up there, just above the "Finding of Moses," by Poussin,'pointing to a portrait of himself attitudinizing, with his hand on his hip,and frock-coat well thrown back, so as to show his figure and the silklining to advantage, 'was done the other day, by a very rising youngartist; though he has hardly done me justice, perhaps--particularly in thenose, which he's made far too thick and heavy; and the right hand, ifanything, is rather clumsy; otherwise the colouring is good, and there is aconsiderable deal of taste in the arrangement of the background, and soon.'

  'What book is it you are pointing to?' asked Sponge.

  'It's not a book,' replied Mr. Jawleyford, 'it's a plan--a plan of thisgallery, in fact. I am supposed to be giving the final order for theerection of the very edifice we are now in.'

  'And a very handsome building it is,' observed Sponge, thinking he wouldmake it a shooting-gallery when he got it.

  'Yes, it's a handsome thing in its way,' assented Jawleyford; 'better if ithad been water-tight, perhaps,' added he, as a big drop splashed upon thecrown of his head.

  'The contents must be very valuable,' observed Sponge.

  'Very valuable,' replied Jawleyford. 'There's a thing I gave two hundredand fifty guineas for--that vase. It's of Parian marble, of the CinqueCento period, beautifully sculptured in a dance of Bacchanals, arabesques,and chimera figures; it was considered cheap. Those fine monkeys in Dresdenchina, playing on musical instruments, were forty; those bronzes ofscaramouches on ormolu plinths were seventy; that ormolu clock, of thestyle of Louis Quinze, by Le Roy, was eighty; those Sevres vases were ahundred--mounted, you see, in ormolu, with lily candelabra for ten lights.The handles,' continued he, drawing Sponge's attention to them, 'are veryhandsome--composed of satyrs holding festoons of grapes and flowers, whichsurround the neck of the vase; on the sides are pastoral subjects, paintedin the highest style--nothing can be more beautiful or more chaste.'

  'Nothing,' assented Sponge.

  'The pictures I should think are most valuable,' observed Jawleyford. 'Myfriend Lord Sparklebury said to me the last time he was here--he's now inItaly, increasing his collection--"Jawleyford, old boy," said he, for weare very intimate--just like brothers, in fact; "Jawleyford, old boy, Iwonder whether your collection or mine would fetch most money, if they wereChristie-&-Manson'd." "Oh, your lordship," said I, "your Guidos, andOstades, and Poussins, and Velasquez, are not to be surpassed." "True,"replied his lordship, "they are fine--very fine; but you have the Murillos.I'd like to give you a good round sum," added he, "to pick out half-a-dozenpictures out of your gallery." Do you understand pictures?' continuedJawleyford, turning short on his friend Sponge.

  'A little,' replied Sponge, in a tone that might mean either yes or no--agreat deal or nothing at all.

  Jawleyford then took him and worked him through his collection--talked oflight and shade, and tone, and depth of colouring, tints, and pencillings;and put Sponge here and there and everywhere to catch the light (or rain,as the case might be); made him convert his hand into an opera-glass, andoccasionally put his head between his legs to get an upside-down view--afeat that Sponge's equestrian experience made him pretty well up to. Sothey looked, and admired, and criticized, till Spigot's all-importantfigure came looming up the gallery and announced that luncheon was ready.

  'Bless me!' exclaimed Jawleyford, pulling a most diminutive Geneva watch,hung with pencils, pistol-keys, and other curiosities, out of his pocket;'Bless me, who'd have thought it? One o'clock, I declare! Well, if thisdoesn't prove the value of a gallery on a wet day. I don't know what does.However,' said he, 'we must tear ourselves away for the present, and go andsee what the ladies are about.'

  If ever a man may be excused for indulging in luncheon, it certainly is ona pouring wet day (when he eats for occupation), or when he is making love;both which excuses Mr. Sponge had to offer, so he just sat down and ate asheartily as the best of the party, not excepting his host himself, who wasan excellent hand at luncheon.

  Jawleyford tried to get him back to the gallery after luncheon, but a lookfrom his wife intimated that Sponge was wanted elsewhere, so he quietly sawhim carried off to the music-room; and presently the notes of the 'grandpiano,' and full clear voices of his daughters, echoing along the passage,intimated that they were trying what effect music would have upon him.

  When Mrs. Jawleyford looked in about an hour after, she found Mr. Spongesitting over the fire with his _Mogg_ in his hand, and the young ladieswith their laps full of company-work, keeping up a sort of crossfire ofconversation in the shape of question and answer. Mrs. Jawleyford's companymaking matters worse, they soon became tediously agreeable.

  In course of time, Jawleyford entered the room, with:

  'My dear Mr. Sponge, your groom has come up to know about your horseto-morrow. I told him it was utterly impossible to think of hunting, but hesays he must have his orders from you. I should say,' added Jawleyford, 'itis _quite_ out of the question--madness to think of it; much better in thehouse, such weather.'

  'I don't know that,' replied Sponge, 'the rain's come down, and though thecountry will ride heavy, I don't see why we shouldn't have sport after it.'

  'But the glass is falling, and the wind's gone round the wrong way; themoon changed this morning--everything, in short, indicates continued wet,'replied Jawleyford. 'The rivers are all swollen, and the low grounds underwater; besides, my dear fellow, consider the distance--consider thedistance; sixteen miles, if it's a yard.'

  'What, Dundleton Tower!' exclaimed Sponge, recollecting that Jawleyford hadsaid it was only ten the night before.

  'Sixteen miles, and bad road,' replied Jawleyford.

  'The deuce it is!' muttered Sponge; adding, 'Well, I'll go and see mygroom, at all events.' So saying, he rang the bell as
if the house was hisown, and desired Spigot to show him the way to his servant.

  Leather, of course, was in the servants' hall, refreshing himself with coldmeat and ale, after his ride up from Lucksford.

  Finding that he had ridden the hack up, he desired Leather to leave himthere. 'Tell the groom I _must_ have him put up,' said Sponge; 'and youride the chestnut on in the morning. How far is it to Dundleton Tower?'asked he.

  'Twelve or thirteen miles, they say, from here,' replied Leather; 'nine orten from Lucksford.'

  'Well, that'll do,' said Sponge; 'you tell the groom here to have the hacksaddled for me at nine o'clock, and you ride Multum in Parvo quietly on,either to the meet or till I overtake you.'

  'But how am I to get back to Lucksford?' asked Leather, cocking up a footto show how thinly he was shod.

  'Oh, just as you can,' replied Sponge; 'get the groom here to set you downwith his master's hacks. I dare say they haven't been out to-day, and it'lldo them good.'

  So saying, Mr. Sponge left his valuable servant to do the best he could forhimself.

  Having returned to the music-room, with the aid of an old county map Mr.Sponge proceeded to trace his way to Dundleton Tower; aided, or ratherretarded, by Mr. Jawleyford, who kept pointing out all sorts ofdifficulties, till, if Mr. Sponge had followed his advice, he would havemade eighteen or twenty miles of the distance. Sponge, however, being usedto scramble about strange countries, saw the place was to be accomplishedin ten or eleven. Jawleyford was sure he would lose himself, and Sponge wasequally confident that he wouldn't.

  At length the glad sound of the gong put an end to all further argument;and the inmates of Jawleyford Court retired, candle in hand, to theirrespective apartments, to adorn for a repetition of the yesterday's spread,with the addition of the Rev. Mr. Hobanob's company, to say grace, andpraise the 'Wintle.'

  An appetiteless dinner was succeeded by tea and music, as before.

  The three elegant French clocks in the drawing-room being at variance, onebeing three-quarters of an hour before the slowest, and twenty minutesbefore the next, Mr. Hobanob (much to the horror of Jawleyford) havingnearly fallen asleep with his Sevres coffee-cup in his hand, at last drewup his great silver watch by its jack-chain, and finding it was a quarterpast ten, prepared to decamp--taking as affectionate a leave of the ladiesas if he had been going to China. He was followed by Mr. Jawleyford, to seehim pocket his pumps, and also by Mr. Sponge, to see what sort of a nightit was.

  The sky was clear, stars sparkled in the firmament, and a young crescentmoon shone with silvery brightness o'er the scene.

  'That'll do,' said Sponge, as he eyed it; 'no haze there. Come,' added heto his papa-in-law, as Hobanob's steps died out on the terrace, 'you'dbetter go to-morrow.'

  'Can't,' replied Jawleyford; 'go next day, perhaps--ScramblefordGreen--better place--much. You may lock up,' said he, turning to Spigot,who, with both footmen, was in attendance to see Mr. Hobanob off; 'you maylock up, and tell the cook to have breakfast ready at nine precisely.'

  'Oh, never mind about breakfast for me,' interposed Sponge, 'I'll have sometea or coffee and chops, or boiled ham and eggs, or whatever's going, in mybedroom,' said he; 'so never mind altering your hour for me.'

  'Oh, but my dear fellow, we'll all breakfast together' (Jawleyford had nonotion of standing two breakfasts), 'we'll all breakfast together,' saidhe; 'no trouble, I assure you--rather the contrary. Say half-pasteight--half-past eight. Spigot! to a minute, mind.'

  And Sponge, seeing there was no help for it, bid the ladies good night, andtumbled off to bed with little expectation of punctuality.

  MR. SPONGE'S RAPID BREAKFAST]